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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24123481">First Kiss</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/6mgs7/pseuds/6mgs7'>6mgs7</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Disconnected [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A New Life, All the words, I'll Edit When I'm Dead, Ian centric, M/M, New Years, alternative universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:49:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,290</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24123481</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/6mgs7/pseuds/6mgs7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>PART 2 of Disconnected. Go read that first if you haven't already.  😉</p><p>Recovered from his coma, Ian returns home and tries to start his life over, while Mickey leaves Chicago in search of a new life on his own.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Disconnected [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1740256</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Fucking+Endgamers+Always">Fucking Endgamers Always</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>written 12-30-2018; Originally posted to the EG New Year's Eve Collection</p><p>Poorly Edited Work. All errors are my own, and I'm sure there are plenty.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="calibre7"><strong class="calibre2">November</strong><br class="calibre1"/><br class="calibre1"/><em class="calibre9">Just fucking say something, you pussy! Who the fuck cares what anyone else thinks. </em>Mickey's cursed himself for a coward, his grin fading as insecurity slipped in.  He stepped away from Ian and looked down at the ground, wishing he could slip away.</p><p class="calibre7">Being there with Ian when it was finally time for him to go home shouldn't have been so awkward, just because Ian’s family was there with them. After all Mickey had been at the hospital with him for two weeks.</p><p class="calibre7">During the first days after Ian had woken up from his coma, it had been strange. Mickey still half believed everything that had happened on Halloween had been some wild hallucinating from the drugs, and though he couldn't explain how he had ended up at Ian's side otherwise, it was impossible to believe he had carried a ghost across the city to reunite it with his body. </p><p class="calibre7">Ian, on the other hand, knew it to be true, but Mickey's refusal to even mention it made him feel suddenly inadequate in his broken state. He worried that Mickey would walk out and leave him if they even broached the subject. Mickey never left though.</p><p class="calibre7">As the days went by, they began to slip back into easy conversations, keeping things simple, avoiding the outward flirting they had done before, and though all those thoughts were still on their minds, they shied away from those intimate moments they had shared on Halloween night. They became friends - the kind of timeless friends that shared in silences comfortably. Mickey was there for every one of Ian's bad days to make them better, and they celebrated every step forward together as well.  </p><p class="calibre7">They had spent hours talking late into the night about everything, arguing over the best movies, sharing war stories about growing up on the south side, and discussing what they planned to do once their lives weren’t tied to that damned hospital bed. Mickey would laugh, reminding Ian that his ass wasn't tied to anything, only Ian's was.  Then he'd pretend to walk right out the door as if he was never coming back. He always did though - usually with extra cups of Jell-o he'd stolen from the maternity ward.</p><p class="calibre7">The doctors and nurses all came to think of Mickey as family, and they had all heard the unbelievable ghost story Ian tried to sell them about how Mickey had helped him ‘get back into his body’ on Halloween night, not that a single person believed either of them, no matter how well their stories matched up.  Mickey slept in the visitors lounge most nights, ate dinner with Ian nearly every night, and watched TV or played card games with him until visiting hours had ended.  More than a few times the nurses found Mickey back in Ian's room in the morning, sleeping with his head resting at Ian's side, their fingers entwined.</p><p class="calibre7">So why had everything suddenly gone completely to shit when Ian asked Mickey if he’d be seeing him again?</p><p class="calibre7">Ian waited for Mickey to say something, but Mickey bit at his lip holding back the well of emotions that threatened to come up.  Maybe it was disappointment or sadness that Ian had forgetten so quickly that they were supposed to leave town together; but more likely it was anger and regret for having wasted his time in the first place by hanging around. He rolled his eyes at Ian then looked away, wishing he was already gone.</p><p class="calibre7">If Ian had been paying attention, he would have noticed that the wall they had spent two weeks tearing down inside of Mickey was instantly going back up - brick by brick – but he was too overwhelmed by the excitement of his whole family showing up to take him home.</p><p class="calibre7">“Yeah, whatever Gallagher." Mickey mumbled. He couldn't even look Ian in the eyes. Instead he shook his head a little and began to walk away, "Fuck you. I don’t got time for these fucking games right now.”</p><p class="calibre7"><em class="calibre9">Fucking idiot!  Why didn’t you just fucking knock some sense into him and just fix this shit!  </em>But instead of listening to the only voice of reason between them, Mickey kept walking, kicking a bottle from his path, then jogging across the street, running further and further away from Ian.  He only looked back once, right before he turned a corner, almost completely out of Ian’s view. </p><p class="calibre7">Ian was still standing there, bewildered.  It had only taken the sight of Mickey turning that corner for the last time for Ian to realize he may have just made the biggest mistake of his life.</p><p class="calibre7">***</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Thanksgiving</strong>
</p><p><br/>“Where ya been?  Dinner’s almost done.”  Fiona asked.</p><p>Ian moved slowly, his healing body screaming for some rest after a long day. He held a bag up as if it was explanation enough, then slowly headed up the stairs to his room without another word. At the top of the stairs he could hear his sister and Lip mumbling in the kitchen, “It’ll take time… the doctors said it’s normal… that guy was nothing but bad news…” Ian slammed his door shut, making everyone in the house jump a bit, but it did the job and shut them up.</p><p>He laid on his bed and began scrolling through Facebook posts on his phone. He’d been searching for pictures or posts that might be connected to Mickey or the Milkovich name for more than a week.  The news had touched on his dad’s arrest only once, right after Halloween, but that story was quickly replaced and forgotten among dozens of other police blotter crimes.  Mickey hadn’t said much when they saw the story. They listened for any mention of missing money or additional suspects, but there was no indication that the cops even knew Mickey had been present that night. Still, it wasn’t something to talk about in the hospital, where someone might overhear them.</p><p>Ian had asked few details about Mickey’s family out of respect for his privacy, assuming they’d have plenty of time to talk about it later. Looking back on the time they spent together, Ian kicked himself every day for never once asking Mickey for his phone number; He never thought he needed it. Mickey had been there every day, waiting for Ian to get better, and when he wasn't in the room he was always nearby.  The last thing Ian had ever expected was for Mickey to leave.</p><p>
  <em>*tap tap tap*</em>
</p><p>“Ian?” It was the soft, cautious, tone his sister always seemed to have lately, as if he was something fragile, waiting to break. His door opened, then closed it again as she stepped inside.  “Can I come in?”</p><p>Ian huffed an ironic laugh and pointed at the door as if to make the moot point that she was already in, whether he wanted her there or not.</p><p>“Fi, I’m fine. Really. I’ll be down in just a minute for dinner, I promise.”  He said.</p><p>“Ok.” She didn’t leave. “It was a really nice day, right?  Can’t believe how warm it’s been. Did you just go walking around… again?”  She asked, trying not to make it obvious she was prying. "You looked like you could use a hot bath to relax when you got home."</p><p><br/>He stiffened a little at her sudden concern.  Where had that been before he was attacked?  They never even knew when he was home before, so why was everyone so concerned about him now?</p><p>“Nope.  Just went riding around for a while.  Got a ticket for the train.  Wasn’t really sure where I was going, I guess.” </p><p>“Can I ask you a question? What exactly are you doing, Ian? I mean, every day you’re out there wandering around for hours, and I really want to help you with whatever it is, but… I’m just worried about you. After what happened and all.”</p><p>“Oh, really?  <em>Now</em> you’re worried?” He asked.  He sat up, finally giving her his full attention. “Don’t. You have enough to worry about with work, and a houseful of people to look after, and that guy… whatever the heck name he’s going by these days.”  he attacked.</p><p>“Ian, I…”</p><p>“No, Fiona.  I’m not trying to be an ass here, but the reason I was fucking attacked in the first place was because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and do you know why I was there?  Because not a damn person here ever cared if I was ever here.”  His statement would have stung less if he had been yelling, but instead he finished as calmly as he’d begun and gave her a you know I’m right look.</p><p>“Ian, I’m sorry.  I know things aren’t always…”</p><p>“I’m not blaming <em>you</em>. If I was, I wouldn’t even be talking to you.  I don’t blame anyone… well, except maybe Monica and Frank, but it’s a little late for that.  All I’m saying is that this life… it can’t possibly be my life, Fiona. No one even knows I’m here half the time." He ached for Mickey's presence; for someone in the room who wanted to be with him;  for someone who saw him.  "Don’t you get it?  I wanted to die that night, Fiona.  I tried to explain that to all of you, but everyone seems to just ignore that part like it's some dirty secret. I didn't fight back when those guys nearly beat me to death that night. And the only reason I ever fought to live again was because…” </p><p>He stopped talking, unable to say Mickey's name out loud without his voice trembling. Mickey was on his mind 24/7, but with life back to the normal Gallagher hustle and bustle, no one was listening anymore. They were all tired of the Mickey stories, or some funny joke Mickey had told him at the hospital, or that one time Mickey coaxed some nurse into letting him bring in a kitty he'd found in front of the hospital just to say hi to Ian for a minute.  On top of all of that, they were all tired of hearing Ian tell them that the only reason he was alive was because of Mickey. No one was listening anymore.</p><p>“Mickey?”  Fiona said it for him.</p><p>Ian’s eyes welled with tears and she pulled him into a warm, loving hug. </p><p>“It’s ok, baby.” She said. She wanted to understand. She wanted Ian to know that she hadn’t completely dismissed what was so important to him, but the truth was, she had. </p><p>The story Ian had told them about how he and Mickey had met was far too outlandish to be true, and it worried her that he was holding on to that illusion as if it could have any truth to it.  When he first told it, she had laughed and said he must have some damn good drugs in that IV.  Then her humor turned to concerned when he kept retelling it. She argued with him that it just wasn’t possible.</p><p>Fiona requested the doctors do a psyche evaluation on Ian to make sure the head injuries hadn’t left him permanently brain damaged and delusional. That was when Lip pulled Mickey aside, hoping to flesh out the real story of how they had met. He asked Mickey why he was suddenly hanging out at the hospital after he found out Ian was in a coma.  Mickey fought the urge to punch Lip for even hinting at the idea that he might be trying to con Ian in some way.  Instead, he began making himself scarce when they were visiting, which turned out to be a lot less as the days went by, but he never left Ian.</p><p>When Ian found out they all thought he was crazy, he had confided in Mickey. After that, Mickey was determined to take Ian as far away from the Gallaghers as he could. So on the day when Ian was being discharged, Mickey was more than a little taken aback when Ian asked him, <em>“Am I gonna be seeing you again?”</em></p><p>Ian pulled away from his sister and cleared his throat.  She wanted to help, but he knew she couldn’t.  After all, he had searched the city day after day, looking for any trace of Mickey in the places he had mentioned, but he knew deep in his heart that Mickey was already thousands of miles away.</p><p>“Come on.  The Turkey's getting cold. After dinner we can sit down and figure out what to do, ok?”  Fiona said, wiping a tear from Ian’s face and giving him a smile that was meant to fix everything.</p><p><br/>***</p><p><br/>“So, what? You’re ok with him just wandering around the city trying to find this guy? I mean, I thought we saw the last of him at the hospital, why the fuck would he want to find him again?”  Lip asked.</p><p>Fiona glanced toward the steps leading to Ian’s bedroom door, and waved her hand at Lip to be quiet.</p><p>“Shhh.  Keep your voice down. I don’t want him getting upset again.”  She said.</p><p>“Upset?”  Lip replied, slightly louder than he had been before. “Upset about what?  About us trying to keep him safe?  Or the possibility that maybe the head injury knocked him off his rocker?  Maybe he needs to get tested again, you know? Go down to the clinic and see if they have a shrink or someone he can talk to. Get him on some kind of meds to help him out.”  Lip argued.</p><p>“Are you out of your fucking mind?  This isn’t anything like that. He isn’t Monica, for crying out loud.  He got beat within an inch of his life, Lip. Have some god damn compassion.”  She pushed her chair back to stand, its legs screeching along the linoleum floor. “I don’t think he’s actually fucking crazy, ok?  What if everything he told us is true?”</p><p>“Are you out of your mind?  Fiona, listen to yourself! He told us he was a fucking ghost and rode inside of Mickey’s body on the fucking El to get to the hospital so that he could reunite his spirit with his body.  If that’s not fucking crazy, I don’t know what is.  I was there, Fiona!  I was there when that asshole showed up at the hospital that night, asking all kinds of weird questions about Ian, like he was looking for information. I didn’t think anything of it, until I saw him there the next day when Ian woke up.  Then the next, then the next.  He was up to something. I don’t fucking trust him.”</p><p>Lip followed her into the living room where she’d gone to escape the conversation.</p><p>“I know that dude, Fiona.  He’s a fucking drug dealer, just like the rest of his family. His dad is a fucking Nazi prick. I wouldn’t doubt Mickey would beat the shit out of someone like Ian just on his fucked up principles alone. And what about his dad, getting busted right around the time Mickey came onto the scene.  Are you telling me you don’t think Mickey had something to do with all of it?”</p><p>“I don’t know, ok!”</p><p>“Well I do. Maybe I can’t prove it, but I think he was there the night Ian got hurt, and he probably fucking fed Ian that bullshit story while he was still doped up just so he'd start believing it himself.  Fiona, come on! I mean, I know we can’t prove anything, but what other reasonable, logical¸ explanation is there?”</p><p>“You’ve seen him with Ian.  There’s no way he had anything to do with that?”</p><p>“Again, give me just one logical explanation then?”  Lip asked.</p><p>She knew he was probably right, but thinking Mickey would ever hurt Ian was as unbelievable as the ghost story itself.  There was just no way Mickey had been involved.</p><p>..</p><p><br/>Ian was sitting at the top of the stairs listening to them argue about his sanity, again.</p><p><br/>“What’s all the yelling down there?” Ian’s younger brother Carl came to sit on the top stair next to him.  Their other sister Debbie joined in.</p><p>“They think Ian’s bat shit crazy or brainwashed.”  Debbie answered first.</p><p>“Are you?” Carl asked.  “Crazy, like Monica.”</p><p>Ian gave a lazy roll of his eyes and flipped him off.</p><p>“Not fucking crazy.”  Ian said dryly.</p><p>“I believe you, Ian.”  Debbie said, trying to console her brother as she hugged him from behind.</p><p>“Yeah, well, that makes one of you.” Ian said.</p><p>“I believe you too,” Carl added, knocking Ian’s knee with his own. “But it would be pretty fucking cool if you were brainwashed. Like some secret spy movie, where they planted Russian information in your head that you won’t even remember until you’re like 25.  You’ll just be walking down the street, and some dude will walk passed you and say some Russian code word in your ear, and then you fucking take out a machete and start massacring all the people, and suddenly you’re like a crazy commando…”</p><p>Ian stood up while Carl rambled on, “I’m going to bed.” he said, leaving Carl and Debbie on the steps to play out the rest of the spy novel Carl was dictating. </p><p>He closed his door and found a pair of earphones hoping to drown out the voices outside his door (and thankfully not in his head). He hit shuffle on his playlist and the band Chevelle began to play.  See! He thought to himself!  There’s no way I can be crazy or that Mickey tried to brainwash me. I have an entire playlist of the music!  </p><p>That was the weakest argument in the world, proving absolutely nothing, but it was all he had – a few dozen songs.  Maybe those were part of the brainwashing, he mused.</p><p>***</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mickey fanned through his wallet, counting how much cash he had left for breakfast and lunch. The rest of his money was tucked away in the backpack in a locker at the bus station.  It wasn’t the most ideal place to leave it, but it was at least safer than walking around the city with fifteen thousand dollars in his pocket. The guy he was supposed to be meeting had charged him five grand for IDs, birth certificates, and a social security numbers.  He knew he was taking a chance on getting shitty documents for that price, but he’d come recommended by someone Mickey semi-trusted, and had guaranteed wouldn’t raise any red flags.  <em>"As long as you ain't making more than 50K a year, the IRS doesn't give a shit about you,"</em> they had assured him. Mickey scoffed at the idea of bringing in 50k a year, knowing that wasn’t gonna be an issue any time soon. </p><p>He checked the time, getting anxious because the asshole was ten minutes late. A dozen scenarios went through his head, all of them ending with a squad of cop cars showing up and arresting him for trying to buy false documents with stolen drug money. He began pacing the sidewalk, and nearly called the whole thing off but there really was no point.  He’d already given them his money, as well as photos and finger prints, and one way or the other, Mickey needed those new IDs. It was the only way he could get a foothold in a new city without taking a chance of his old man finding him.  A year, two tops, he told himself – then he could come back to Chicago. With any luck, maybe his old man would fuck with the wrong guy in the prison yard, and get a shiv to his kidney. There was definitely no love loss between them.</p><p>Just as Mickey’s blood pressure was as high as it could get without busting a blood vessel, the guy he was waiting on came walking around the corner at a snail’s pace, talking on the phone. He glanced at Mickey, then nodded toward a grocery store across the street, and walked off in that direction without a single word.</p><p>“Motherfucker.” Mickey mumbled, biting at his lip and balling his fists in frustration.  He reminded himself – he needed this guy, not the other way round, and so he followed him into the store, keeping his distance as they made their way up and down each aisle. The asshole just kept walking and talking on his phone, ignoring Mickey, expecting him to follow along like some fucking little lap dog.</p><p>“Fuck this shit.” Mickey said at last. Stopping at the bakery and grabbing a handful of the Free for Kids cookies.  He watched the guy round another corner, but didn’t follow.  Either the asshole would realize Mickey had stopped following him and come back or he wouldn’t.  Mickey didn’t really fucking care anymore.</p><p>Except he needed those documents.  Just as he was about to catch up, the guy came back around the corner, finally tucking his phone into his pocket.  He furrowed his brows at Mickey, silently scolding him for not following.  Mickey crossed his arms and leaned against the bakery display case, making it clear that he wasn’t going to follow the guy up and down any more fucking aisles.</p><p>“You ever hear of being inconspicuous, asshole?” The guy asked quietly as he walked up, pretending to be looking at the fresh baked bread instead of Mickey.</p><p>Mickey tilted his head and raised his own brows at him.</p><p>“You ever hear of being on fucking time, asshole? And what, you think it fucking matters if I talk to you near the hot dog buns as opposed to following your fucking ass up and down twenty aisles before meeting up in the tampon aisle?  There are cameras everywhere, you fucking idiot.  This is as fucking inconspicuous as it gets.  Now stop wasting my fucking time and give me what I paid your ass for.”</p><p>The guy looked around, then let out a heavy sigh and nodded toward the donut case.</p><p>“No, dip shit.  I’m not taking another step.”  Mickey said, standing his ground.</p><p>“You are if you want these fucking papers.  I need you to get a box and put a dozen donuts in it.”  The guy began doing the same, asking Mickey, “What kind do you like?”</p><p>“The fuck you mean, what kind do I like?  Why’s it fucking matter?”  Mickey asked.</p><p>The guy pointed at the apple fritters, “Get two of those, and a couple chocolate icing with sprinkles. My kids love those.”  He set his box on the short counter and tucked a white envelope on the bottom before starting to fill it with donuts.</p><p>Mickey finally caught on and did as he was instructed.  “Get some long johns – the kind with the good cream, not that fake white shit.” He said.</p><p>“Oh, good idea, I love those.”  The guy handed two more long Johns to Mickey to put into the box he was preparing, then closed his own box.  “Be right back.”  He said without looking up.  “When I walk away, take my box with your shit and go pay for them.  But first put a couple of those lemon filled donuts in there for me.”</p><p>Just like that he walked off to the dairy section at the back of the store.  Mickey watched him go. He added two lemon filled donuts to his box, then closed it up and set it on the short counter next to the other box.  He glanced around, then remembered the security cameras.  He knew he was being a fucking paranoid idiot, but better safe than sorry. He pretended to browse the loaves of bread on an adjacent shelf then decided he’d done enough, grabbing the box the guy had loaded up with the envelope on the bottom. Mickey hoped like hell that the envelope underneath the donuts wasn’t empty.</p><p>Outside of the store, Mickey looked around again, still waiting for the other shoe to drop and a band of cop cars to come squealing up, but none did.  He pulled his hood up over his head, then headed for the L. Ian would be heading out soon, either going back school, or for one of his jaunts around the city, and Mickey wanted to be there, where ever he decided to go.</p><p>As he reached the top of the platform to wait for the train, he opened the box and pulled out a long John and shoved it into his mouth.  He pulled out the envelope, scraping a bit of frosting from it onto the side of the box.  It seemed thick and heavy enough to leave him hopeful.  He tucked it into his jacket then grabbed the other long John for the ride, leaving the rest of the box behind.</p><p>***</p><p>On the agenda today:  Job Hunting. </p><p>Ian picked his least faded collared shirt and a pair of khaki pants, then ran his finger along a few fading scars on his forehead and cheek, still noticeable but better than they had been a month before.  Finally, he checked his hair. Fiona had taken him for a haircut and the barber had gone a little short, leaving his cowlicks sticking up on the back of his head like Alfalfa.  He moved the tufts around trying to get them to relax, but it was no use.  He put a drop of gel on his fingers and tried again.  The hair laid flat for a few seconds, then sprung back up.  Great, he thought, knowing the gel he had added would only keep it standing straight up on his head all day.</p><p>“You look nice. New girl at school? A fresh little chicky catch your eye? I bet you’ll get all the girls now that you’re famous.” said Frank… the Gallagher’s consummate asshole sperm donor… only thank god, not Ian’s sperm donor. </p><p>No matter how many times someone told Frank Ian was most definitely, 100%, an all American Gay Pride Poster Child, Frank insisted on fucking with him and saying<em> “It’s probably just a phase. We’re all gay for a little while in life. I was gay until I met your mother, and even for a little while after that too. It's normal. It'll pass.”</em></p><p>Ian knew Frank wasn’t denying the possibility of him actually being gay, nor did Frank actually hold it against him in anyway.  Frank was a lot of things, but homophobic wasn’t one of them. No, it wasn't any of that; it was just because Frank was the biggest asshole on earth.  He said shitty things just to get under Ian’s skin and had done so for years, but it became even worse once Frank found out Ian wasn’t really his kid. Ian did his best to ignore him, but since Ian had been in all the news stories, Frank seemed to be stuck on pushing his You Only Think You’re Gay agenda on Ian, hoping to push Ian from his spotlight, as if Ian ever wanted it on him at all.  Fortunately, since waking from his coma, he had become yesterday’s news story.</p><p>Ian pushed past Frank, knocking him hard into the bathroom door.</p><p>“Ouch! Go get her, killer! I’m sure she’s a beauty! Just make sure she's not serving up any old seafood in that snatch of hers... crabs suck.”  Frank laughed as he dropped his pants and began to pee halfway in and out of the toilet.</p><p>“Fuck off, Frank.  And stop peeing on the goddamn floor!” Fiona said, as she passed by.  She pulled the bathroom door closed.  “Ian, you ready?  Wow, you look really great!” She reached out to try to tame the wild hair on the top of his head.</p><p>“I’m not going to school.”  Ian stated, pushing her hand away lightly.</p><p>“What?  What do you mean, you’re not going? You said you’d go back after the Thanksgiving break?”</p><p>“I know what I said, but I’ve already missed most of this semester. I was in class for one day last week and I no idea what they were talking about anymore.  It doesn’t make sense to go back right now.”  He headed down the stairs to the kitchen to pour some coffee, with Fiona in pursuit.</p><p>“But, what about graduation?  You’re just a few months away, Ian.  You can’t just quit now.”</p><p>“I know.  I’ll consider going back in January when the new semester starts, ok?  But I can’t go back right now.”  He said.</p><p>She knew he was right.  There was no way for him to catch up on the work he’d missed, and any classes he had now would just have to be repeated, so she nodded and surrendered.</p><p>“Then why are you all dressed up?”  She asked.</p><p>“Gotta get a job. Figured we could use a little extra cash around here with Christmas coming up.  I’m not doing anything else, and you and Lip don’t need to be the only ones working.”</p><p>He kissed the top of her head, then went for his jacket and scarf.</p><p>“Wish me luck.” He said, taking his cup of coffee to go.</p><p>“Luck!”  She called out as he closed the front door.</p><p>He stood at the top of the porch steps, pulling his hood up over his head, and tightened his scarf, then bound down toward the gate and out of the yard. He turned left, walking a few yards before doing a U-turn and heading right instead.  Surely it couldn’t be that difficult to find a job in retail someplace at this time of year.  He decided to head to the mall.</p><p>Mickey waited for Ian to get at least a half block lead, then followed on the opposite side of the street.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fiona peeked her head into the bedroom early the next morning to wake Carl for school.  Ian was sitting on the edge of his bed, searching his phone once again for any hints of Mickey Milkovich, even though he had promised himself he would stop looking days before.</p><p>“You’re up?” Fiona said surprised. “Thought you’d be sleeping in since you don’t start your new job until this afternoon.  You gonna tell me what it is you’re doing yet, or do you just want me to freak out while I imagine you hanging out under some bridge selling meth?”</p><p>Ian chuckled, “You should probably worry more about Carl doing that shit than me.” He said, poking his sleepy brother in his side as he passed by.</p><p>“Fuck you, I ain’t no drug dealer.”  Carl mumbled.</p><p>“Yet.” Both Fiona and Ian said simultaneously.</p><p>“I’m kinda…”  Ian hesitated, “I don’t know, I mean it’s a job and all, but I’m a little embarrassed to say what it is because I know everyone's gonna give me shit about it.”</p><p>A smile stretched across Fiona’s face, “Oh, now I gotta know!  Come on, tell me.”</p><p>“It’s at the mall.” Ian said, hoping that was enough.</p><p>“Doing…?”</p><p>“I’m sorta working as…” he winced as the words fell quickly from his mouth, “one of Santa’s elves in Christmasland.”</p><p>“Haaa!  Oh my god!  Are you serious?  Do you have to wear an elf suit and everything?”  Fiona was beaming.</p><p>Ian pulled a bag from under his bed and held it up. Fiona quickly grabbed it from his hands and ran for the door.</p><p>“Lip! Get your ass up here! You gotta see this!”  She called.</p><p>“Fiona!”  Ian cried out.</p><p>“Come on, kid!  It’s better to rip off the band aid, right?  Let’s just get this over and done with.” </p><p>Inside was the red and green felt monstrosity, complete with pointy shoes, green tights, a jingly bell belt, a ridiculous tunic, pointed ears, and an elf hat. She pulled each piece out of the bag, passing them around for everyone to see. She held up the jingly belt and pointed ears,  in all their embarrassing Christmas glory, for the rest of Ian’s siblings to see, all of whom were now gathered at the door, laughing.  She saved the pièce de résistance for last, pulling a tube of glitter glue from the bag and cackling with joy!</p><p>“What the hell?” She asked.</p><p>“I have to put that on my cheeks.” Ian said, rolling his eyes.</p><p>“Can we go see him at the mall, Fiona?” Debbie asked.</p><p>“No! You’re too old to see Santa!” Ian said, yanking each piece of the costume from their hands.  “Seriously, if any of you show up there, I’ll call mall security.”</p><p>Lip laughed, “Mall security, huh?  This dorky costume suddenly steal your manhood too?  Gotta call the fake cops to come and wrestle us away?”</p><p>Ian flipped him off but laughed none the less.  It felt good.  It felt easy again, to laugh with his brothers and sisters, even if it was at his own expense.  For the first time in weeks, even if only for a few minutes, Mickey wasn’t at the front of his thoughts right then.</p><p>Once Ian checked into work later that afternoon, he stayed so busy herding children like cattle through the maze of toys that he only thought of Mickey once in a while, and when he did it was fleeting. </p><p>..</p><p><br/>Mickey sat at a small table on the second floor, overlooking the giant Christmasland set up in the main lobby. He laughed at Ian for two hours as he fumbled and bumbled his way through his first day at work, tripping over his own pointed elf shoes, fighting with the elf ears to stay in place, and taking a few solid hits to the guts with toys that went awry.  Mickey zoomed his phone camera in and took a few pictures as well.  After his fourth soda and second slice of pizza he felt pretty sure Ian would be safe at work without him keeping watch over him. </p><p>Mickey knew it was stupid – this guardian angel role he’d taken on – but just as he didn’t trust his dad to come looking for him, he also didn’t trust that his dad might send someone looking for Ian now that Ian was out of the coma and no longer under the hospital’s watchful eye.  After all, Ian had never told anyone that he knew it was Terry who attacked him that night, only because he didn’t want to tie Mickey to it in any way, but Terry didn’t know that.  Mickey figured it was better to be safe than sorry.</p><p>He gathered his trash and threw it in the bin, then headed down the escalator, pulling his hood up over his head.  He got as close to Christmasland as he dared, hoping to get a closer look at Ian.  The cuts on Ian's face had healed almost to the point that Mickey couldn’t see them at all from a distance, and the back of his hair, which had been shaven clean before, had grown back nicely, except for some wild tufts of hair that stuck straight up any time Ian removed the hat he was wearing.  Mickey picked a strategic corner in the crowd and waited for the perfect opportunity, clicking one last picture before heading out of the mall to find a place to stay for the night.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Week of Christmas</strong>
</p><p>Ian flopped onto his bed, his feet aching and tired. He tried to block out every thought and sound around him, but after nine long hours at the mall, all he heard was the phantom tune of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer playing on loop.  He just wanted to sleep. Never in his life had he realized how hard Santa’s elves worked during the holiday season, but now he appreciated, and equally hated, everything that was Christmas or North Pole related. </p><p>It had been hours and days and weeks of screaming kids, kids throwing toys at him, kids coughing and sneezing directly into his face without covering their mouths, kids who insisted he sing Christmas carols with them while they stood in line (which was apparently part of his job), and kids who kicked him in his shins just because they were little fucking assholes.  He usually rubbed it away and told their parents it was ok, then he’d bend over to whisper in the kid’s ear <em>“I’m telling Santa to put you on the naughty list for the rest of your life.”  </em>Those kids usually ended up taking a picture crying and begging Santa not to put them on the naughty list. Somehow, those were Ian’s favorite moments at work.</p><p>His mind fought a battle between sleep and a harping voice of reason telling him to at least take his shoes and jacket off so he could sleep more comfortably. It seemed like sleep was about to win when his phone buzzed.  Ian patted his jacket pockets to find it, pulling it out with one eye open.  Facebook notification.</p><p>Facebook could wait.  It was probably his sister tagging him in another stupid video of people falling on the ice.  He dropped the phone at his side and decided to get undressed after all, toeing his shoes off his aching feet one by one, then peeling his jacket off and throwing it on the floor.  A quick bathroom break, then he was hopping under the covers ready for a good 10 hours of sleep.  </p><p>His phone buzzed again.  Another Facebook notification.</p><p>He set the phone on the table next to him.  Sleep didn’t seem to want to come quite as quickly as before. After a few minutes, Ian reached for his phone and opened Facebook to find he’d been tagged in a picture by someone named Alex.  He clicked it, wondering if he knew an Alex, then sat straight up in bed when he saw a photo of himself dressed as an elf and holding his shin with an oh fuck! face on.</p><p>Ian clicked Alex’s profile, but there was nothing else posted there, not even a profile or cover photo.  Only the single post with his own picture. There was a comment underneath it,<em> “nice fucking ears, dip shit.”</em></p><p>Was it… could it… Ian racked his brain for the people he knew from school named Alex, but only one came to mind and he was a teacher.  He clicked back and forth on every link available in Facebook on Alex's profile – About, Photos, Friends – but the only thing he found was the Joined Facebook Date showing December 20th, just two days earlier.</p><p>He lied back down on his pillow reading the comment again and again – <em>“nice fucking ears, dip shit”</em> – Mickey had called him a dip shit a dozen times.  Of course, he had also called him a douchbag, asshole, fucking idiot, fucktard, shit head, firecrotch, freckles, rat bastard, bitch, and a number of other things during their visits in the hospital - all terms of endearment, Mickey had assured him.  But Reason spoke up and reminded Ian that Lip had called him a dip shit just that very morning, not to mention hundreds of other people at school or on the street who had called him a dip shit in his lifetime.  It seemed ‘dip shit’ was as common in Chicago as any other phrase.  </p><p>He let out a disappointed sigh, knowing Lip had just threatened to go see Ian at the mall to get a picture of him dressed in that get-up. Besides, Ian hadn’t heard from Mickey in more than a month, even though Mickey knew exactly where to find him.  Not once had he come looking for Ian. </p><p>Ian set his phone down and ran his hands down his face, trying to erase all thoughts of Mickey from his mind again.  He’d been doing so well, thinking of him less and less with each busy day. Ian groaned, knowing that was a lie. He thought of Mickey almost as often as ever before, but now he did it dressed as a six-foot elf as he fought back the urge to strangle little kids. Ian knew if he started down the path of IFs and possibilities again, he wouldn’t be falling sleep for hours. </p><p>Mickey.</p><p>Fucking Mickey Milkovich. </p><p><em>Fuck him!</em> Ian thought, suddenly angry at the intrusive thoughts that were beginning to flood his brain.  <em>Fuck him for just leaving me like nothing ever happened!</em></p><p>Ian knew it was unfair to think that. It was just as much his own fault that Mickey was gone. Mickey had risked everything by sticking around the hospital as long as he did while Ian recovered, and when it was time to leave, Mickey was still there, waiting.  They had talked for days about leaving together. Mickey had even taken a photo of Ian, with the pillows propped up for a white background to be used on a fake ID if he needed one. It had all seemed so possible at the time... until Ian asked that one stupid question outside the hospital.</p><p><br/>Ian's exhaustion was now replaced with anger, and he didn't appreciate the bullshit that Lip or some asshole Alex was playing on him. He grabbed his phone and typed out a quick response:<em> “I don’t know who the fuck you are, but if I catch you taking my picture again, I’ll break your fucking neck.”</em></p><p>That should do it.  He let out a heavy sigh and pulled the pillow over his head.  Whoever this person was, it wasn’t Mickey.  Ian was sure of that. Mickey was long gone. He’d left with his money and dreams of a new life on the beach, so he certainly wasn’t hanging around the mall in Chicago, or even thinking about Ian when he took a shit, that’s for sure!</p><p>So why was Ian spending so much time still thinking about Mickey?</p><p>***</p><p>Nearly ten hours later on the dot, Ian woke up.  The house was already bustling with activity downstairs in the kitchen and the smell of coffee and bacon wafted up to his room.  Winter break from school, he remembered, that’s why everyone was home.  He grabbed his phone and headed for the kitchen and coffee, grunting his good mornings to anyone who acknowledged him.  As he passed Lip, Ian dropped his phone on the table in front of him.</p><p>“Take a look at that Facebook post and tell me if you think you know who it might be.”</p><p>Lip opened up the app, expecting it to go to the post Ian was referencing.</p><p>“What am I looking for here?”  Lip asked holding out the phone for Ian to find the post.</p><p>Ian searched his notifications, then his activities, looking for the tag, or comment, or even his response, but nothing was there.</p><p>“What the hell?”  He said.  “Some guy named Alex tagged me in a picture at work. Now it’s gone.”</p><p>Lip chuckled.  “Who’s Alex? Just go to their page. It’s probably there.”</p><p>“I don’t know who Alex is. He didn’t have a last name.  No other posts either.”  Ian continued to search for any sign of the post from the night before, but there wasn’t a trace to be found. “I don’t fucking get it.”</p><p>“Probably just some douche that works in the mall, fucking with you.”  Lip said.  “I wouldn’t worry about it.”</p><p>“Yeah.  Maybe.”  Ian said quietly.  “For a minute I thought it might be…” he stopped suddenly.</p><p>Fiona and Lip both looked at him, their concern evident on their faces.</p><p>“Might be what, Ian?”  Fiona asked.</p><p>“Nothing.  It’s nothing.  Never mind.”  He took his coffee and headed upstairs for a shower.</p><p> </p><p><br/>***</p><p> </p><p><br/>Only 2 hours into his shift, with a line of kids twisting in a line that went back and forth eight times, and Ian was already at his wits end. </p><p><em>Note to self: don’t ever take a fucking job in Christmasland again, no matter how much it pays,</em> he thought. </p><p>He was quickly becoming a person who never wanted to have kids, ever!  One of the other elves tapped him on his shoulder, reminding him of his fifteen-minute break, and Ian practically sprinted over the metal barriers to get out of Christmasland area as fast as he could.</p><p>He yanked the felt cap and pointed ears off his head and tucked them into his waistband, then headed for the Pretzel Palace since it was the only restaurant with a line shorter than ten people. Two little kids in front of him smiled and stared at him in awe, like he was the Jolly Fat Man himself, but Ian was having none of that on his break. He pulled his phone out while he waited, narrowing his eyes at them rudely before ignoring them completely.</p><p>And then there was guilt. Damn it! he cursed himself.  He couldn’t even pretend he really hated kids, because he actually liked them a lot... that was, as long as he wasn’t on the clock. He gave in and smiled at the kids before looking back at his phone.</p><p><br/>He had a few new notifications - Texts from his sister reminding him to pick up candy for the kid’s stockings before Christmas eve, and a cartoon of Santa fucking one of his reindeer on a rooftop from Lip.  Ian laughed at the Santa pic and was ready to tuck the phone back in his pocket when it buzzed.</p><p>He clicked the notification which went straight to Alex’s very impersonal Facebook page again. There was a picture of Ian standing in line at the Pretzel Palace with two little kids looking up at him smiling. Ian looked around, wide-eyed and wary, searching for the person who took the picture, but there were literally hundreds of people mulling around the center of the mall. He typed out a response to the photo, daring the asshole who was tagging him to show his face, but before he could hit send a comment appeared.</p><p>
  <em>“You look like a fucking Keebler elf! What say I dress up like the Big Guy in a red suit, and we have a little fun later? Bring the jingly belt and ears… those are hot!”</em>
</p><p>“What the fuck!”  Ian said, looking around angrily this time, and catching an equally angry glare from the mother in front of him for his foul language.  “Shit, I’m sorry.”</p><p>Not better, he told himself as the woman shot daggers at him with her eyes. </p><p><em>“I thought I told you to leave me the fuck alone, asshole.  If you’re so fucking tough, why don’t you come out here right now!”</em>  Ian hit the Send button for his comment, but got an error saying That post no longer exists.</p><p>He refreshed the page, and sure enough the photo was gone.</p><p>“Are you fucking kidding me?!”  He looked up and saw the woman in front of him ready to pounce.  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m going.”  Ian said, pointing in the opposite direction as he left the line and put distance between him and her children who were standing there open mouthed, shocked at the elf’s language.</p><p>Ian walked around like a man on a mission, seeking out the stranger in the crowd who might be watching him.  He circled Christmasland twice and was about to go for a third round when one of the elves waved him over.</p><p>“You planning on coming off break soon?  The rest of us need to piss too, you know.”</p><p>Ian shook his head and rolled his eyes, then hopped the metal gate to get back to his post. It wasn’t a minute later before some little kid came up behind him and hit him square in the back with a thick foam bat.  Ian’s face burned with humiliation more than frustration, knowing that somewhere out there, there was some kinky-fucking-dip-shit-Keebler-elf-hating-asshole watching him and laughing.</p><p> </p><p><br/>***</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Christmas Eve</strong>
</p><p>Thank god for early hours at the mall on Christmas Eve, because if Ian had to spend another five minutes there, he was sure to literally pull a five-year-old apart limb from limb if they came at him again with the punching gloves or the Nerf gun.  Never Fucking Again!  All the Ho Ho Ho had gone out of his HoHoHoliday, and all he wanted was for this job to die a quick and painful death.  He had Christmas day off, then he’d go back for one day to help pack things up and turn in his uniform, and it couldn’t happen a minute too soon.</p><p>6 p.m. came around and there were still eight families in line waiting to see Santa.  Two of the elves on duty had asked to leave promptly at 6, using the excuse of having little kids at home and last minute preparations to finish.  Ian wasn’t so lucky.  Not only had he made it clear time and again that he never wanted kids after working there, but everyone knew he had no girlfriend (or boyfriend in his case) or wife or kids waiting for him at home when he left.  He was left behind to wait for those last eight families.  As the first set of kids rattled off their Christmas lists to Santa and smiled for the camera, his phone buzzed. Normally, if the elf supervisor was on duty, Ian would have never touched his phone at work. It was strictly against the rules and grounds for dismissal, but his supervisor was long gone, and there were no other elves on duty to rat him out, aside from Santa and the photographer who were busy doing their own thing.  Ian pulled his phone out as he waited to let the next family in.</p><p>This time there was a private Facebook message from Alex.</p><p>"Motherfucking pussy," Ian grumbled, hoping he had only said it in his head and hadn’t accidentally let it slip from his lips.</p><p>There was a picture of the Bean in Millennium Park with the caption,<em> “Come out when you get off. I’ll be by the Christmas tree. I owe you a drink.”</em></p><p>Ian looked around the lobby.  This time it was almost completely empty with the last of the shoppers heading for their cars and many of the store gates already lowered.</p><p><br/>He looked at the photo again, reading the message as if there were some hidden meaning there that he was missing.</p><p><em>Fuck it,</em> he thought.  There were only seven families to go, and it was the last day before this whole Christmasland came down, so the worst that could happen if he abandoned his post now was that he got fired a whole day earlier than he’d be laid off.  Ian propped open the gate and let everyone into Christmasland at one time. The kids immediately ran for the toys that had already been picked up and packed away for the night, but Ian didn’t care.</p><p>“I gotta go! Merry Christmas everyone,” he called out, grabbing his backpack that was tucked away in one of the cubbies. He waved to Santa and the photographer who looked a little panicked, then pulled off the felt hat, tossing it and the pointed ears into a trash bin as he went running for a bathroom to change into regular clothes.</p><p>***</p><p><br/>Mickey sat in the cold with an old fleece blanket he’d bought at a thrift store wrapped around his shoulders.  He looked like any other homeless person in the park, sitting alone on one of the benches.  He sat there holding a $7 cup of coffee and his phone in one hand and a meatball sub in the other, as he waited to see if Ian would show up. He was still fucking bitter about paying so much for shitty coffee, but Starbucks was the only place nearby to get something hot, and he didn’t want to freeze his ass off sitting there.</p><p>He’d grown a little more accustomed to the cold, having spent several nights out at the abandoned building where he’d found Ian so many weeks before.  He hadn’t wanted blow all his money on motel rooms knowing he would need it as a cushion soon, and there was no way he could go back to his family’s house since it got taped off by the cops as part of their investigation.  It wasn’t safe for him to be there anyway. Eventually someone would come looking for their money, and Mickey didn’t want to be anywhere near when they did.</p><p>When the nights had grown colder, Mickey realized he could easily stay a few nights a week in the hospital visitor’s lounges, just like he had when Ian was still there.  No one seemed to ask any questions about it, and as long as he didn't stick around more than one night on each floor it was easy enough to get away with. He even managed to sneak in a shower every other day or so in one of the rooms that were vacant. It made him wonder why more homeless people weren’t taking advantage of situations like that.</p><p>He finished up his coffee and tossed the cup in the bin a few feet away, checking the time again. It was 6:38. Thirty-eight minutes since he had gotten Ian’s read receipt on the message.  If Ian was coming, he would be arriving any minute.  Mickey pulled the blanket up over his head and continued to eat his dinner under cover. The least he could hope for was that Ian would come just to kick someone’s ass, namely Alex’s. The worst that would happen was Ian wouldn't show up at all. Mickey didn't want to think about that possibility though.</p><p>Two minutes later, Ian came into view, jogging into the center of the plaza, looking all around for a familiar face.  Mickey watched him as he circled the giant Christmas tree a few times, then sent him another photo through messenger. This time it was a picture of a hot dog vending stand with the Christmas tree in the background.</p><p>
  <em>“Go say hello to the guy who runs this place.  His name is Craig.  Tell him you want the Dirty Sox Special, extra stinky.  And make sure you tell him Ho Fucking Ho.”</em>
</p><p>Ian pulled his phone from his pocket, then look all around the plaza for the hot dog vendor in the photo. There were two still operating, but with the angle of the Christmas tree behind them in the photo, Ian took a guess and went walking straight in Mickey direction to the vendor working just ten feet from Mickey’s bench.</p><p>Mickey held in a chuckle, holding his meatball sub up in front of his well-covered face to make sure Ian wouldn’t spot him.  He heard Ian order the hot dog as instructed, getting only as far as ‘extra stinky’ before the vendor cussed him out.</p><p>“The fuck kind of dog is that?  Look at the fucking menu, jackass, and order something I got.”</p><p>Mickey practically cackled!  Ian pulled his phone out and read the message again, then looked to see if the angle of the tree in the photo appeared to be correct.  The vendor had gone on to help other customers, physically pushing Ian aside to make room for other paying customers.</p><p>“Are you Craig?”  Ian asked as the guy made some dogs for a couple. “Excuse me… sir?   Uhm… Hello…”</p><p>“You gonna order fucking food or not?  If not get out of here before I call the cops.”  He warned.</p><p>“O-ok, ok.  But before I go, are you Craig?  Can you just tell me that, because I have a message to buy a hot dog from a guy named Craig, and to tell him Ho Fucking Ho?”  Ian asked this knowing he sounded like a complete jackass, but the look on Craig’s face changed from annoyance to interest suddenly.</p><p>“Ho fucking ho, huh? You sure that’s what it says? Who sent you?”</p><p>“Uh… I’m not sure. Someone named Alex.”  Ian answered.</p><p>“Alex? Alex who? I don’t know anyone named Alex. Order a hot dog or get out.”  Craig said, changing course on Ian again.</p><p>“Uhm, ok…”  Ian said, defeated as he walked away. </p><p>He stopped a few feet away, missing the wink Craig gave to Mickey, and the dangerous glare Mickey sent back.  Ian checked his phone again, then turned back to try once more. </p><p>“Listen, Craig.  This is really important to me, ok?  I got a message to come here, to your hot dog stand and ask for…” Ian read it directly from the message so he wouldn’t mess up, “the Dirty Sox Special, extra stinky.  And make sure you tell him Ho Fucking Ho. Are you telling me you don’t know anything about that?”</p><p>He held his phone screen up in front of Craig to show him the picture.  Craig read the message.</p><p>“The Sox? Oh, I thought you said the socks!  Yeah yeah, I got that for you.  Do you want onions?  Yes, yes, of course you do.  Onions, peppers, the works.  Give me just a second.”  He started fixing Ian a hot dog as if their previous transaction had never happened.  “There you go!  You want a drink to go with that?  Go ahead, in the cooler, pick one out. It’s all included.”</p><p>Ian looked stunned as the guy pointed to a cooler.</p><p>“How much do I owe you?” Ian asked, pulling out his wallet to pay before grabbing a drink.</p><p>“Nothing.  It’s all taken care of.  Don’t forget your drink, huh?”  The guy said again, pointing at the cooler again and keeping his eyes on Ian to make sure he got the message before going on to help the next customer.</p><p>Ian put his wallet away and opened the cooler.  Aside from a few packages of bratz and dogs, there wasn’t a drink to be found, but there was a manila envelope with his name in bold black Sharpie.  He took it from the cooler and looked to the man to ask where it had come from, but Craig had moved on to new customers and had no intention of talking to Ian any more.</p><p>Ian looked around again, then back at the package which had a little weight to it.</p><p>He moved away from the hot dog stand and took a seat on a bench not too far from Mickey, turning the envelope over in his hands.  The front said<em> Ian Gallagher.</em>  The back said<em> Do Not Open Until Christmas.</em></p><p>Mickey watched Ian from his little tunnel vision hole in his blanket as Ian debated whether or not he should open the envelope. He looked around the plaza wondering if Alex was there, and opted instead to send off a message.  Mickey stood from the bench, hunched over a bit, and walked away slowly, finding another spot further from Ian.</p><p>
  <em>“I don’t get it.  What is this?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“It’s a Christmas present.  How bout that drink I promised you?”</em>
</p><p>Ian turned the envelope over again, this time looking like he might open it when his phone buzzed.</p><p>
  <em>“Jesus Christ.  Can’t you wait one fucking day?”</em>
</p><p>Ian looked around quickly.</p><p>
  <em>”I don’t understand why you’re doing this?  Why don’t you just come out where I can see you.  This isn’t fair.”</em>
</p><p>Mickey looked around the plaza, and considered it. After all, what were the chances that anyone had followed Ian there?  He saw a few different men in the distance who looked out of place standing around with no real purpose... then a cop who went strolling past a little too slowly.  Yes, it might have only been paranoia, but Mickey wasn't taking any chances.  His entire life and freedom depended on it.  He ignored Ian's questions and sent another photo from his phone.</p><p>
  <em>"Go to this place. It’s about a half block from the L.  Stop in there on your way home and tell them you want a drink called the Trip Fantasia.”</em>
</p><p>Ian laughed.  What was this treasure hunt all about and why? </p><p>
  <em>“This isn’t one of those games like I played with Craig, is it?  You know, they’re not gonna serve me in a bar, right?  The bartender’s gonna make a fool out of me in front of everyone, right?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Maybe. Now get your ass over there.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>”Thought you were having a drink with me?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Never said with. Just go. I got shit to do.”</em>
</p><p>Ian shoved the hot dog in his mouth in 3 huge bites, then took off in double time toward the bar Alex had sent him to, tucking the envelope into his jacket. </p><p>Mickey gathered his blanket from around himself, folding it up into a nice neat square, then found an actual homeless person sitting off from the center of the crowd to hand it to.  Then he went over to Craig, pulling a ten-dollar bill from his pocket and handed it over,</p><p>“You’re a fucking asshole, you know that? I didn’t tell you to play fucking games with him. What if he had walked away?” Mickey bitched.</p><p>“Yeah, but he didn’t. You said twenty.” Craig held up the ten and waited.</p><p>“Yeah, all right. Twenty.”  Mickey handed over the other ten, flipping Craig off before he walked away.  “Merry fucking Christmas, bitch.”</p><p>He pulled his hood up over his head, pulled a pair of black leather gloves from his pocket, then headed for the bus station.  He’d done what he needed to do, now it was time to leave town for his new life.</p><p> </p><p><br/>***</p><p> </p><p>“Ian! Where have you been?”  Fiona asked when he walked in the back door.  “Did you get the candy?”</p><p>“Huh? What candy,” he asked. He hung his coat on a hook by the door, making sure to grab the manila envelope from the pocket.</p><p>“What do you mean ‘what candy?’  The candy you were supposed to get for the stockings for the kids.  Are you serious right now?  You had one job, Ian.”  She was already wrapping her scarf around her neck and grabbing her jacket for a last minute run to the store. “Never mind.  I swear, if I want anything done around here, I gott…”</p><p>The door shut tight behind her, leaving Ian completely unfazed by her rant.  He headed up the stairs, tossing the envelope and his phone on his bed. He stared at the envelope a minute then heading for a shower. </p><p>The sweet taste of pineapple juice was still on his lips, making him smile. Apparently, Alex had been serious about the drink – Trip Fantasia was served with pineapple juice and a whole cocktail of hard liquor, as well as a misplaced toothpick with three little black olives set up to look like Mickey Mouse ears. Ian had completely missed the reference, not being a Disney fan.  He popped the olives in his mouth first, then took a nice long drink. The bartender never question Ian's age, nor did he make Ian pay for the drink, saying it was on the house before sending him on his way home.</p><p>It wasn't quite ten o'clock yet, and most of the Gallaghers were down in the living room watching Christmas movies and drinking eggnog and rum… or just the rum… but after his shower, Ian decided to call it a night instead. He pushed the envelope under his pillow, ready to open it the minute the clock struck midnight.  He knew in the privacy of his own bedroom it was unlikely Alex would know if it got opened sooner, but Ian was still skeptical and had decided on the way home that ‘Alex’ might actually his brother Lip fucking with him for some Christmas fun, so he decided to play by the rules.</p><p>Ian opened his Facebook, ready to shoot off a photo of the still sealed envelope to Alex and thank him for buying him dinner and a drink, but just as before, Alex’s profile and messages were gone.  There was no trace of him and his account had been deactivated.  Ian was positive it was Lip now, given how much Lip hated Facebook.  It all made more and more sense. And now that the package had been delivered in time for Christmas, there was no reason for Lip to keep up the illusion anymore.  Ian had to admit, the excitement of chasing the mystery had taken his mind off his physical pain, and mostly helped push thoughts of Mickey from the front of his mind as well, and that in itself was a pretty great gift from his brother.</p><p><br/>He set his phone aside, and decided to join the rest of his family downstairs for a little while before bed,  The package could wait until morning to open with the other presents.</p><p> </p><p><br/>***</p><p> </p><p>Unlike TV families, where perfectly groomed children came down the stairs on Christmas morning dressed in matching red and green flannel pajamas, and the mom and dad had hot coffee and muffins in hand as they all gathered around the Christmas tree to open gifts, the Gallaghers were slightly different.</p><p>The two youngest, Carl and Liam, had fallen asleep on the ragged old couch, so when Debbie came bouncing into the room ready to open gifts, there was no place left to sit.  She tried to wake the boys up nicely once or twice before eventually shaking Carl as hard as she could and yelling at him to get off the couch.  That earned her a punch to her leg.  In return she socked Carl in his thigh, then went running up the stairs to one of her older siblings for back up.</p><p>Meanwhile, Fiona shuffled her way down the back steps and through the kitchen, her hair tussled messily about with her “Fuck Off” eye mask pulled up just above her black raccoon eyes.  She put on a pot of coffee, then turned right around and shuffled back up the stairs where she found Debbie whining at Lip’s bedroom door about Carl being an asshole.</p><p>Ian yawned and rubbed his eyes as he made his way to the bathroom grunting a tired greeting as he went.</p><p>Fiona, reached out to pat his shoulder as he passed, “Merry Christmas to you, too.”</p><p>From downstairs everyone could hear Carl and Liam starting to fight when the front door opened and their neighbor Kevin’s booming voice came barreling in.</p><p>“Merry Christmas, Gallaghers! Get your asses up and let’s get this party started. We brought some day old donuts and bacon.”</p><p>“Jesus fucking Christ, what time is it?” Lip asked, pushing Debbie aside and heading to the bathroom.</p><p>“Too fuckin’ early, that’s what time.” Fiona said, falling back into bed.  But it was too late to hope for any more sleep. Kev and his wife Veronica were already making their way into the kitchen, yelling even louder than before for everyone to hurry their asses up so they could open gifts.</p><p>“It’s already 9:30 and everyone in this house is still sleeping!” Debbie complained. 'When are we gonna open presents?'</p><p>Lip joined Ian in the bathroom, moving in close next to him to pee in the toilet at the same time.</p><p>“Merry Christmas.” Lip said half asleep.</p><p>“Mmhmm,” was all Ian could muster.</p><p>“Guess we’d better get down there before they all come up here looking for us.”  Lip said.</p><p>Ian flushed the toilet then rinsed his hands.  “Yep.  I’ll be down in a minute.”</p><p>He headed for his room, checking his phone once more out of curiosity, to see if Alex had returned.  Nothing.  He reached under his pillow for the envelope then headed down to the kitchen to get coffee before it was all gone, setting the envelope in plain sight and keeping an eye on his brother to see if he was paying attention to the fact that it was still sealed shut.</p><p>The kids spent the next thirty minutes yelling at their older siblings from the living room, begging them to come and start opening presents.  Veronica and Fiona took their sweet time getting some bacon in the oven and mixing up some pancakes, while the Lip and Ian sat at the table listening to Kevin talk about the basket of goodies Veronica had given him for Christmas.</p><p>“Kevin! Nuh uh. Those boys are too young and innocent to be hearing about that shit. Stop it.” Veronica warned.</p><p>“Those boys haven’t been young and innocent since they were three.” Fiona laughed.</p><p>“I’ll show you guys what I’m talking about later. Come by my place.” Kevin said with a wink.</p><p>“Go brush your teeth and get ready for breakfast! We’re not doing presents until we eat.” Fiona yelled into the living room, followed by a mutual groan as the three youngest headed up the stairs.</p><p>Lip nodded at the envelope sitting on the table, “Ian.  What’s that?”</p><p>Ian gave him a knowing smile, “You tell me?”</p><p>“How the fuck should I know?  Where’d it come from?”  Lip asked.</p><p>“Are you being serious right now?”</p><p>Lip looked confused.</p><p>“I thought it was from you.” Ian said.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>A New Life</strong>
</p><p>Mickey rolled into San Diego at 5:25 pm the day after Christmas.  His legs and back were stiff from the two-day journey, and his patience worn thin after having to share a seat with some fucking Chatty Cathy and her knitting needles on her way to see her grandma for the first time in twelve years.  Even though Mickey had earphones on, that bitch talked almost nonstop for the first five hours.  After that, she sort of ran out of gas, but every now and then would sputter back to life and throw out a twenty minute one-sided conversation that he did his best to ignore. Usually he ended up taking the earphones out of his ears and let her talk, deciding it was a good distraction from everything else he was thinking about, namely Ian. </p><p>How he had gone almost 48 hours without killing that bitch with her own knitting needles was beyond him. He marked it up to his jolly Christmas cheer. As he waited for his duffel bag to be unloaded from the bottom of the bus, Miss Chatty Cathy decided to come by one last time to say good-bye.  Mickey was seconds away from finally speaking his mind and putting her in her place when she reached out to hand him a brown bag with a piece of blue yarn wrapped and tied around it.</p><p>“The fuck is that?” he grumbled.</p><p>“I was so worried about taking this trip, you know?  My sister said I should fly, because it would be safer, but I really didn’t have the money for that, so I was just praying the entire time I waited to get on the bus that I would be safe.  And then you sat down next to me.  And you’ve been so wonderful, letting me go on and on about my cats and my mother, and you didn’t complain once, even when I stuck you accidentally with my knitting needles. Anyway, this is for you.”</p><p>Mickey untied the string as she continued to yammer on.</p><p>“I knit when I’m nervous, and I had this lovely blue wool with me, and when we were riding along, I realized it was really the same color as your eyes, so I just went ahead and made that for you… you know, since we had to spend Christmas together… on a bus and all.”  She said quietly.</p><p>Mickey pulled the scarf she had made him from the bag, beautifully knit as if she’d purchased it from a store. He felt like a complete asshole for wanting to stab her with her knitting needles.  He didn’t say anything about the gift, but after two days she had learned he wasn’t a man of many words.</p><p>“I know it’s probably better suited for Chicago weather, so you can save it until you get back home.”  Just then a cool breeze kissed their skin. “Oooh, well, I guess maybe you can wear it here too.  Trade it out for the heavy jacket you’re wearing.  Anyway.  Merry Christmas, Alex.  It was very nice to meet you.”</p><p>She stepped forward and pulled him into an awkward hug before patting his arm and walking off with her suitcase.</p><p>Mickey crumbled the brown bag and tossed it into the trash, then wrapped the scarf around his neck.  The wool was a little itchy, but still soft and comforting.  It was the only Christmas present he had received.  In fact, it was the only present he had received in years.  He grabbed his duffel bag and headed in the same direction as the woman, catching a glimpse of her as she exited the station by the line of taxi’s. </p><p>He grabbed a seat before heading out, taking a last inventory of everything he had on him to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind. His phone battery had died hours earlier (leaving him mercilessly without music to drown out that generous, jolly bitch) but he tried one last time to turn it on without luck.</p><p>“Just great.”  He muttered.  He wouldn’t even be able to get to this next stop until he could make a simple phone call, and he couldn’t make that phone call unless he could charge his phone.  He looked around the station and found a sitting lounge with plugs, so he parked his ass once more and plugged his phone in waiting for it to get enough juice to make it through the rest of the night.</p><p>His phone came to life a minute later. Mickey waited for notifications to load – from who or what he didn’t know, since he’d picked up the burner back in November and had only given the number to two people, both of whom he had yet to meet.  He logged into Facebook, reactivating his account.  The only person he followed there, Ian, hadn’t posted since anything Thanksgiving.  Mickey scrolled through his posts anyway, laughing at the corny jokes and comments he’d seen a dozen times already.  There was nothing new, but every piece of Ian was worth looking at again as far as Mickey was concerned.</p><p>He opened up a new message.</p><p>
  <em>“Merry Christmas, Freckles. By now I’m sure you opened up the envelope.  Feel free to tell me to fuck off if that’s what you want, but just know, I’ll be waiting here if you decide to come. – M”</em>
</p><p>He scrolled through the photos on his phone, almost every single one of them of Ian. Ian getting poked by nurses at the hospital, Ian trying to shove an entire hospital hamburger in his mouth in one bite, Ian balancing spoons on his nose, Ian flipping Mickey off, Ian giving Mickey ‘the chin’ when he was pissed, Ian sleeping with a puddle of drool on the pillow, Ian sitting by the window looking out.</p><p>He picked the one Ian didn’t know Mickey had taken – it was just a picture of their two hands, Mickey's resting on top of Ian's. Mickey had taken it one of those first nights after Ian woke up, when the pain and the nightmares were still overwhelming and the nurses had let Mickey sleep in the room with him.  Mickey hit Send before he could change his mind, then waited. A few minutes later he got the little check mark indicating Ian had read the message. The little bubbles appeared, indicating Ian was typing a response. Mickey’s heart raced, too scared to know what it might say.  If it was “Yes, I’ll come” that was fine… great actually.  But Mickey wasn’t ready to hear a No.  Not yet.  Right now, he needed a little hope, a small ray of sunshine to get him started in his new life, and Ian was the sun. </p><p>Mickey quickly opened the app menu before Ian could send his reply, and clicked clicked clicked until his account deactivated once more.  His heart dropped.  His eyes welled up, but he pinched the moisture away before it could overwhelm him. He stared out the window at an unknown highway.  There were leafy green plants and palm trees, and not a single hint of winter or snow.  He looked at his phone and decided he had enough juice to make the phone call.  He could always let his phone charge more while he waited for his ride to arrive.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“We can’t just let him leave, Lip!  Do something?”  Fiona whispered desperately.</p><p>“What do you want me to do?”  He looked amused, which pissed Fiona off even more. Lip had recently given up the fight against Mickey. “He’s gonna be 18 years old, Fiona.  If you make him stay, he’ll leave anyway.  Maybe tomorrow, or the next day.  Maybe when he’s 18, but he’s still leaving.”</p><p>“He’s going all the way across the country, to god only knows where, to meet some guy he claims gave him a ride in his body!!  Lip!  Goddamn it, don’t just walk away!”  She called as he went back into the house, leaving her on the front porch alone.</p><p>“Ian!  You about ready?  Your bus leaves in like 2 hours and we gotta deal with shitty traffic. Let’s go!”  Lip called.</p><p>Carl, Liam, and Debbie stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting for him to come down.  Debbie had a brown bag lunch she had packed and Liam had two bottles of water she had given him to hold.  Carl was waiting to ask if he could have Ian’s knife collection once he was gone. </p><p>Ian came down, maneuvering two large duffel bags stuffed to the brim in front of him.</p><p>“Shit, Ian. There’s not gonna be room in the car for all of us with all of that.”  Debbie said.</p><p>Ian looked at his siblings then at his bags.  “Well shit, Debs, I wish I could say I’ll leave half of it behind, but I kinda gotta take it all with me.”  He ruffled her hair and laughed.  “’Sides, I’m just going to the bus station.  You don’t all need to go with me.  It’s too snowy and cold.  Just stay here.  I’ll call you when I get to California.”</p><p>“I can’t believe you’re just moving to California.” Carl said.  “What’re ya gonna do when you get there?”</p><p>“Don’t know.  Same thing I’d do here, probably, but on a beach and with a lot less snow like you losers.  I’ll figure it out.”  Ian pulled his siblings in for a hug, taking the water and brown bag lunch when they finally let him go.  “Aw Debs, don’t cry.  Just think of it this way, you guys will be able to come out sometime to see a real beach!  Mickey said the house is right on the water.”</p><p>He hugged her once more, kissing the top of her head, then looked at Lip and headed for the door.  Fiona stood there, hands over her mouth, holding back tears as Ian approached.  There was nothing more she could do to keep him home, and no matter how she tried to reason it, she knew he was doing what his heart told him to do.</p><p>She pulled him into a tight hug, “Things go bad out there, even for one second, you call me and we’ll get you a bus ticket home, got it?”</p><p>Ian nodded, wiping away his own tears and clearing his throat before softly prying his sister’s hands from around his body.</p><p>'Ok. You got everything you need?' She asked, finally surrendering to the fact that he was leaving.</p><p>He pulled the letter Mickey had left him from his pocket - Money, ID's, a bus ticket, and phone numbers for the hotel to call for a ride when he got there.</p><p>“Yep, I'm all set. I gotta go, Fi.  I’ll miss my bus.”  Saying goodbye to Fiona was like saying goodbye to his own mother.  She had raised him, wiped his tears when he skinned his knees, stayed up all night with him when he ran a fever, fought his teachers when they tried to suspend him for fighting in 2nd grade.  Fiona was the reason for every good part of Ian’s life, and had instilled in him nearly every ounce of love he’d ever needed but never got from his parents.  “I love you, Fi.”</p><p>She nodded, tears streaming down her face, then pushed him out the door.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>New Year’s Eve</strong>
</p><p>Mickey paced nervously, checking the time on his phone every few minutes and driving Mario bonkers.</p><p>“You know, the bus didn’t even get here until after 11.  Why don’t you go clean the cabanas or… I don’t know... see if there’s enough tequila on stock for tonight.  Jesus, Alex, you’re making me anxious, and when I’m anxious I sweat, and I’m wearing linen right now.  Stop it.”</p><p>“Ok, first of all, I’m not a fucking cabana boy, ok? So stop telling me to clean the goddamn cabanas.”</p><p>“Ok, relax, big guy.” Mario rolled his eyes, waiving Mickey off.</p><p>“And B, why the fuck didn’t you or Tito tell me he had called two fucking days ago?  No one… not a single person in this goddamn place knows how to take a fucking message! Everyone acts like they're on permanent fucking vacation around here.”  He held up a stack of new Post-It notes.  “See these?  I bet they’ve been here since Romy and Fucking Michelle invented them, huh?”</p><p>“Oh my god, I swear, if your man wasn’t coming out here to service your engine, which honey, we all know you need right now, I’d swear you weren't gay at all. I mean, just look at you.  You have way too much pent-up anger and ugh, and it’s stressing me out. Lord help the man who has to keep you happy every day, that's all I gotta say.”   Mario spritzed himself with a coconut cucumber water, then patted a few drops behind his ears.  “Honey, you have to learn to relax. You'll start scaring the guests if you keep this up.”</p><p>Mickey rolled his eyes and headed for the door. </p><p>“I’m gonna… “</p><p>“What?  Go clean cabanas?” Mario joked.</p><p>“No, and fuck off!” </p><p>Mickey left grumbling. Mario stretched his head over the desk to get one last look at Mickey's bubble butt in those shorts as he went.</p><p>“A little too much vinegar in that boy, but damn is he yummy...”</p><p>..</p><p><br/>Mickey pushed through the crowd of people dancing and drinking out on the pool deck and out onto the beach.  Had he known Ian was actually coming he could have taken the past two days to wrap his head around it, let his nerves settle a bit, and then move on to waiting impatiently, none the less.  Instead he’d found out fifteen minutes earlier when he went into the front office to let Tito know he’d gotten the tile work completed in the main house bathroom.  That was when Fucking Mario, the gayest fucking faggot to ever walk the planet dropped the bomb that Tito had run off to pick up Mickey's boy toy at the bus station. Now Mickey's nerves were like exposed live wires, leaving him frazzled and on edge.</p><p>He got back to the main house and headed for his studio apartment located over the garage. The apartment was part of the package deal he’d negotiated with Tito, the owner of the resort.  It was only 500 square feet, but had plenty of space for Mickey since he’d been using it mostly just to sleep, in between maintenance work on the property. It was simply furnished, and included a kitchenette in an open design and a private bathroom.  Mickey had spent the short three days he’d been at the resort learning the ropes and pushing Ian as far out of his mind as possible to avoid any disappointment if he never showed up.  He hadn’t even given Ian his own phone number since the plan was to replace his old burner with a more permanent phone once he got settled in.  Instead he’d left the resort's name and number on the letter he'd written him, but apparently the front desk knew nothing about proper fucking phone etiquette.</p><p>He took a look around his apartment, suddenly very conscious of how small it really was, and began tossing his clothes which were strewn about on the floor into the duffel bag he’d brought with him.  He stuffed it under the bed and began rushing around putting the dirty dishes he’d left lying about into the sink. It was stupid to try to clean up. After two weeks in the hospital, Ian already knew that Mickey left shit all over the place, including his clothes and dishes.  There was no reason to try to make a good first impression now, since his actual first impression was about as weird and fucked up as it could get back then.</p><p>Mickey put the last bowl in the sink, then fell onto the couch, covering his face with both hands. What the fuck had he gotten himself into.  It all seemed like a great idea when he and Ian talked about it in the hospital.  It started to sound great again once Mickey landed himself a job and started playing his fun little cat and mouse game with Ian.  But now… Now it was all a little too real for him. </p><p>Sure, he liked Ian… a lot.  Enough to live in a fucking hospital visiting room night after night for two weeks straight, sitting with Ian almost every day until he was well enough to go home.  He liked Ian enough to follow through on that crazy pipe dream they talked about where they both ended up living their lives out together on some beach, drinking tequila while the sun set over the ocean.  He liked Ian enough to tell him that someday when he was finally free of all the bullshit and danger of his old man’s life, maybe, just maybe, they could settle down in their own home, maybe even back in Chicago with a couple of snotty rug rats tearing up the house.  Of course, he’d told Ian that part when he was sound asleep and drooling puddles on the pillow, but it still counted.  That was how much Mickey liked Ian, and it scared the shit out of him.</p><p>He put his head back on the couch and tried to concentrate on something else, anything else.  The music coming off the beach with a thousand guests talking and laughing.  The sound of the waves crashing against the shore.  The sound of his heart beating in his ears… wait, no... Not that.  That was just going back to Ian again.   The sound of…</p><p>Tito’s garage door opening up below him.</p><p>..</p><p> </p><p>“So, tell me, how long have you and Alex been together?”  Tito asked.  His proper Spanish accent was strong and sexy, and Ian knew Tito must use it to his advantage in his line of hospitality work.  “Put your seat back and get comfortable. We have a little bit of a drive to go.”</p><p>“Didn’t he tell you?  How we met?”  Ian asked.</p><p>“Oh, yes!  He told us a wild story about ghosts and goblins and Halloween miracles on the very first night he was here!  Of course, we all had a great time laughing about it since I had been feeding him tequila all evening. We were celebrating his arrival, of course! We're all family here, you know, and very excited to have him join us.  Wonderful personality – so polite and courteous, with a flame of fire in his eyes.”</p><p>Ian busted out laughing, “Polite and courteous? Mickey?  I mean, uh… Alex?” </p><p>Tito smiled.  “Don’t worry.  He told me all about his real name and why he left Chicago.  I appreciated his honesty.  I too had to flee my home for similar reasons, but look at me now!”  He waved his hand as if to show his success by the car and clothes, “We’ve come a long way, baby!  But it’s probably a good idea if you stick with calling him Alex at the resort, since the rest of the employees don’t know.”</p><p>“Ok, yeah. Good to know.”</p><p>“So, how did you two really meet?”  Tito persisted.</p><p>“You really want to know?” Ian asked.  He then proceeded to recite the same tale Mickey had told just a few days earlier, only Ian's version was much more colorful and filled with fun details about how they'd met in the abandoned warehouse. He filled in the all the empty spots Mickey had left out, like the train ride to the hospital where Ian had to keep taking control of Mickey’s body to keep him from being a complete asshole, and in turn making him look like a complete idiot in public instead, and the quiet moments of sharing their thoughts and feelings as well. Ian tried to explain how he felt himself slipping away from Mickey once Mickey had fallen asleep, but that it was at that exact moment Ian realized the only way to hold on to him was to find his own will to live again.</p><p>Tito listened, completely engaged to the much longer version of the tale he’d heard before, still not believing a single word of it, but entertained none the less. He laughed a rich, hearty laugh which put Ian at ease, and by the time they were pulling into the garage it was as if they had known each other for years.  Tito knew right away that just like Mickey, Ian was going to be a welcomed addition to the resort.</p><p>They unloaded Ian’s bags from the car, then Tito pulled him into a hug, big enough to rival one of Fiona’s.</p><p>“Aah, that was a marvelous story! You'll have to be sure to share it with our guests at times, it will be so much fun for them to hear. Bienvenidos, mi amigo!  I hope you and Alex find a great life here for many years to come.  It is my pleasure to have you.”  He pointed toward a back door of the garage, “I’ll leave you to find him.  You can take your bags to the apartment at the top of the stairs, just around the corner to the right outside that door, but as for your man, I’m afraid he could be anywhere right about now. After all, there’s a celebration going on!  Good luck.”</p><p>Tito walked out the front of the garage and headed for the main lobby.  Ian stood in the dark.  All he had to do was walk through that door – Mickey was someplace on the other side of it.  He hoisted one of his bags up over his shoulder, and grabbed the other in hand and walked out into the night.</p><p>Mickey was standing halfway down the back steps from his apartment, wearing a pair of khaki shorts and a ridiculous tropical shirt Tito had insisted he wear for the New Year’s celebration. It made Ian grin from ear to ear. He dropped both bags where he stood, taking Mickey in under the dim glow of distant lights from the party. For a brief few seconds, they were frozen, neither sure of what came next. Ian was in awe at the sight of the man who had saved his life and never left his side until he was finally home and safe.  Mickey looked at Ian and realized that he’d finally found the freedom he had sought his whole life on the night that they met. Without Ian, he would have never been bold enough or brave enough to leave Chicago, and he knew the day would never have come that he would reach out to another man and ask him to follow him into the unknown.  Ian had surely saved Mickey, if only from himself.  Mickey moved first, and Ian met him halfway.</p><p>“I knew you’d come.  I knew… c'mere...”</p><p>Somewhere in the distant din of the night, the New Year's Eve countdown began followed by the muddled singing of Auld Lang Syne. And for the very first time Mickey finally kissed the man he’d fallen in love with.</p>
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